Thursday: A Day of Wrath
by BeyondtheDarkside101
Summary: Thursday is violent, volatile and vicious. One should always tread carefully around him. But how did this barbarian become the Commander of the Glorious Army of the Architect?


The wood finally gave way, and relented under the ruthless assault of Sir Thursday's steel bayonet. Another piece of furniture, another symbol of the Trustees ruined self control, its wooden remains scattered across the room. In the middle of the room stood the diminutive denizen, standing over the ruined table and a cowering subordinate. The offense had been slight – a misspelling of one or two of the names on the report that Sir Thursday had just received – but the rage it had unleashed had hinted at the unstable nature of the Commander of the Glorious Army of the Architect.

"Get out," Thursday managed to hiss between haggard breaths, desperately trying to regain some form of composure before he killed the unfortunate corporal. The denizen managed a quick salute before limping out of the office, leaving Sir Thursday standing alone, his small form still shuddering as the rage subsided again.

"_That went well, didn't it, Traitor"_ hissed the acidic voice of the Will inside Thursday's mind. He felt the all-too familiar bubble of rage begin to bubble inside him again at the sound, but managed to maintain his composure.

"_Oh yes, another subordinate who will be too terrified to approach you – it's amazing you can even run this excuse of a regime that you have stolen from the Rightfully Appointed Grand Marshall" _the Will continued, knowing full well the effects of its words were having on the Commander. Just as predicted, Thursday lashed out in frustration, ramming his fist into the nearest wall, leaving a noticeable dent in the steel-grey concrete.

"I am no thief! And I am certainly NOT A TRAITOR!" shrieked Thursday, ramming his foot into the ground in fury. The Will simply chuckled.

"_You and I both know that is entirely untrue now, don't we? Once the Rightful Heir manages to reach us here, he will meter out the justice that you so desperately need. Especially when I inform him of the shameful acts that you committed to get to your position; and how you have abused your privileges once you reached said position. He is probably already on his way to remove you from your sham of an office,_" the Will taunted, relishing Thursday's laboured breathing as he desperately tried to calm down.

"I am the Commander of the Glorious Army of the Architect! I shall NOT be spoken to in that tone!" snarled Thursday. A vein in his forehead bulged, snaking its way across his pale skin.

"_Commander you may be, but you are still a pawn in a larger game. You are being used like the trash you are. Perhaps I should remind you of everything you have done? What a monster you are? Perhaps you have Nothing in your brain?"_ the snake whispered, and Thursday could swear he heard the smile in its voice. The smile that made Thursday's blue blood boil.

"I know exactly what happened. There is no need to remind me," growled the infuriated denizen, who began to ball his hands into fists, imagining that that accursed snake was in his grip. If only he could destroy it and that monstrous hissing…

"_I can sense what you want to do to me. Perhaps you could try assaulting another corporal. That seems to be your duty these days – terrorising your subordinates. Your foul temper has left them in such a state of fear that they draw lots to even speak to you. I think a little story ought to salve that burning anger inside you," _the hissing was insidious, pervading Thursday's consciousness, egging him towards another outburst. He decided not to rise to the bait.

"Tell your falsehood then, it will make my ultimate victory over you all the sweeter. Especially when I rip you apart, clause by clause," Thursday glowered, and used the Key to fix the furniture in the room. Taking a seat, he began to listen to the Will as it began spinning its poisonous story.

"_When the Glorious Army of the Architect and the Great Maze were created, the permanent soldiers within this region of the House were created with a particularly strong sense of loyalty to their cause. This was as true of their commanding officers as the lower ranks. Whilst the other denizens would provide the ultimate numbers for the army, the officer class were to provide the backbone of the organisation. As a result, any act of betrayal would make the officer in question uncomfortable, until the issue had been resolved, or unless a justifiable reason could be provided in writing some 300 days after the betrayal had occurred._

"_Now, due to the sheer size of the Army, the Great and Perfect Architect decided that it required two minds to run it. So she created two Over Marshals, Sir Thursday and Sir Chetverg, to manage the organisation. However, almost immediately the two leaders were at odds with each other, vying power and influence. Although a compromise was reached – there would be a Strategic Over Marshal Chetverg and a Tactical Over Marshal Thursday – there was a tension that was never fully overcome._

"_After several thousand years, The Architect vanished, leaving the position of Commander-in-Chief to Sunday and his secretary Saturday. It was at this point that the two Treacherous Trustees had presented Sir Thursday, and not his technical superior Chetverg, with the Fourth Key and the Fourth Part of the Will. Although the pair were simply using him to further their own dishonourable ends, Thursday became indebted to them, willingly obeying orders from them. Sir Chetverg however, had become distrustful of his subordinate, and the Key he carried. Why had he not been presented with it? Legally, it was supposed to be his, and although he was prepared to take orders from the usurper Sunday, he failed to see why the Will was the sole responsibility of Thursday, who guarded it jealously from everyone._

"_So one day, the curious Over Marshal had managed to find Thursday asleep (he had seemed to be doing that less and less lately, as though something was preventing him from getting his needed recovery time). Lying beside the sleeping figure was a white and gold Marshall's baton, and coiled around it was a green snake with a gold line running along its back. A snake made entirely of words. It was hissing quietly in Thursday's ear, whispering something quietly, a soft green light coming out of its mouth._

"_Chetverg quietly padded over to the snake, picking it up gently. The snake offered no resistance, simply turning to look at the new owner._

""I assume that you have come to disobey your duty to your Creator as well then?_" the snake had sneered, poking its forked tongue out as if to taste the treachery in the air._

"_Chetverg had been startled. At first he had thought the snake was some sort of Upper House sorcery, created by Superior Saturday to plague his subordinate. But the wording that made up the serpent's body, combined with the question it had just asked, led Chetverg down another train of thought._

""_You're part of the Will of the Architect, aren't you?" the Marshallhad asked in a hoarse whisper, so as not to wake the twitching Thursday._

""I am indeed part of the Will of the Architect, which has been disgracefully unfulfilled by the despicable Trustees!_" the snake wound its way up Chetverg's arm, coming in closer to his ear. The Marshall was horrified to hear that the Architect, their Creator and ultimate commander, was being deliberately disobeyed. And by a member of the Glorious Army of the Architect as well. This treachery did explain why Thursday had become more unstable and violent in the past few weeks._

""_Can I help to ensure you are fulfilled?" Chetverg asked, reaching up to stroke the Will's back. He knew that things had to be fixed. The Architect was supposed to be obeyed, not betrayed by self-serving denizens. This was against everything he had ever stood for!_

"_The Will had hissed in pleasure at hearing those words. Finally, a denizen that was not so utterly consumed with its own lowly and base desires had come to a higher calling._

""I have a plan which will legally allow you to gain access to both myself and the Key_," the Will said as it slithered around Chetverg's neck, and leaned into his ear to elaborate._

_Thursday had awoken with a start, and immediately noticed two things: firstly, that the three Times of Day were standing guard over him; and secondly that the Will was missing, although (and he thanked the Architect for this stroke of fortune) the Fourth Key was still in his hand._

"_What do you think you are doing?" Thursday snarled, standing up too tower over the three Times. The three individuals stood still as statues, although their arms rested on the hilts of their blades._

"_We are here by order of Over-Marshal Chetverg. We are to escort you to a special Tribunal Hearing, which will lead to a court marshal for treason against the House and against the Architect," Dawn had stated with a deadpan face – none of them wanted to provoke the Trustee into an angry outburst. Outbursts which had happened with alarming frequency recently._

"_Gritting his teeth, Sir Thursday dressed himself in his Marshal's attire, and marched towards the Tribunal Room, located in the hidden depths of the Citadel. He knew the way, and refused to let the Times lead him there, slapping away Noon when he tried to go in front._

"_After passing through the dark, sinister doors, Thursday was presented with a familiar sight of a single chair facing a long wooden table. On the other side of the table, Sir Chetverg sat, with three vacant seats beside him. Thursday, who refused to sit down, watched as the three Times walked over and joined their commanding officer. Immediately, paper appeared from nowhere, and the four denizens began writing._

""_Sir Thursday, Tactical Over Marshal of the Glorious Army of the Architect, you are brought before this court for the serious crime of Treason against the House and against the Architect. Our evidence comes from the Fourth Part of the Will, which has kindly elaborated how extensive parts of the Will have been ignored and actively disobeyed by your persons. Due to the nature of your heinous crimes, you will be stripped of all rank and honours bestowed upon you. You will be made to surrender the Fourth Key to the Kingdom to a guardian until such a time as the Rightful Heir is found. You have no right to appeal. Have you anything to say?" as Chetverg spoke, he had been writing intensely. As he finished both tasks, the scroll of paper he had been furiously scrawling on floated into the air, and hit Thursday square in the face. Immediately, his marshal uniform vanished, and was replaced with a black, tight fitting shirt and pants. He also shrank considerably, becoming smaller than everyone else in the room._

"_But before anything else could happen, Thursday rapidly waved the baton at the sheet of paper, causing it to burst into flames, the ashes softly falling around the room. Glaring in a fanatical fury at the court, all who looked up in alarm at the diminutive denizen. His small form shaking violently in anger, he uttered one word:_

""_No."_

_Immediately, the baton shifted forms, rapidly extending and dulling in colour, becoming a massive broadsword. Oblivious to the change, Thursday advanced rapidly towards the table, leaping over it and landing squarely on Sir Chetverg, knocking them both to the floor. Blinded by fury, Thursday began hacking away at the hapless denizen, ignoring his screams and the shouts of horror from the Times._

""_You will not take this away from me!" Thursday hissed, ripping Over Marshal Sir Chetverg apart with the Fourth Key. By the Times began to react, the Strategic Over Marshal was long dead, although Thursday was still hacking away in demented anger._

""_Sir Thursday, stop at once!" Dawn yelled, reaching down to stop Thursday. Although he gave her a solid backhand which sent her sprawling, the distraction evidently calmed him down somewhat. It still took ten minutes before his violent trembling subsided enough so that he could speak, and when he did managed to croak out words, his voice was still shaking with fury._

""_This never happened, do you three understand me? I have always been the sole Over Marshal. If I hear any political machinations from anyone in this army, or even a whisper of disloyalty, treachery or even think the word "Chetverg", I will personally throw all three of you treacherous filth into the Nothing whence you came. Have I made myself abundantly clear?"_

"_The Times looked in terror at each other. Then in unison they shouted: "Yessir!"_

""_Good. Now clean up this mess," Thursday pointed to the blue mess on the ground, which was all that remained of the former strategic Over Marshal._

""_Will, come here!" shouted Thursday at the air. At first nothing happened, but then the snake slithered out from the bloody mess, curling its way up Thursday's smaller form._

""_Since it is obvious I cannot allow myself to rest whilst you are still under my care as Trustee, so I shall ensure that you stay with me permanently," Thursday stated, then muttered something under his breath. Immediately, the snake became bound to the Fourth Key, which was still in its sword form, and then both shrank down to the size of a large badge. Thursday proceeded to put the badge on his fitted cap, then turned to the Times, who had finished cleaning the room._

""_Come," Sir Thursday commanded, and then led the Times out of the room."_

The Will finished its story with a hiss of anger. Thursday grumbled something incoherent as well, although it sounded something along the lines of "that's not what happened," or "Chetverg was the traitor."

After about five minutes, in which Thursday hoped against hope that his tormentor would leave him in silence, the Will began speaking again.

"_You do know that Lord Arthur is coming to the Great Maze soon? I expect him to arrive in splendour any day now actually."_

Thursday snorted in amusement at the thought.

"That mortal may have three of the Keys, but the other Trustees were nothing compared to me. I have an army at my command. If the Heir so much as breaths the air of the Great Maze, I will have him and any of his followers immediately killed."

The Will snickered. "_I doubt that will happen. Not if I have anything to do with how he gets here._"

Thursday never did find out what that statement meant. For the next day word came to him that the Gates to the Void had been captured. He did not have time to think of the Rightful Heir, and when he did, he discovered that Lord Arthur was already in the Army.

Thursday is marched at sword point to his holding cell – a bare, steel room, with nothing in it at all, and lit by an eerie glow from the low ceiling. He stares at the bare room for some time, not even noticing the slam of the door as closes behind him. The silence is sweet to him – it brings tears to his eyes. To have had something so poisonous inside his head for so long, and having it taken away, begins to bring relief on his weary form.

He lies down on the cold floor, the anger that had been built up over millennium slowly seeping away. He can sense it leaving him, making him feel lighter and happier. Sleep is near to him, he can sense it trying to envelop him. He is happy at last, the emptiness finally bringing him peace.

It is just on the cusp of oblivion that he hears it. Hissing laughter. The malicious sound that had plagued him almost his entire life. The taunting viper was still here!

"_Did you really think it would be that easy to get rid of me?_" the voice hisses in his head, and cackles at the shriek of rage that escapes the former Trustee.

"You should be gone!" howled Thursday, ramming his head against the wall in frustration. It wasn't fair! The Will was gone now, why couldn't his tormentor leave as well?

"_How much of this voice did you honestly think came from the Will? I am a creature of your creation, admittedly assisted by the Will. But it has been entirely your own actions and thoughts which have been your tormentor for all these years,_" the voice laughs manically again. Thursday can basically see the snake materialising in the air in front of him, goading him into a berserk rage.

But this time will be different.

He calmly undoes his tunic. On the inside pocket sits a small grenade, filled to the brim with Nothing and kept in place by Immaterial Steel. Thursday knows that pulling the trigger will release a small explosion of Nothing. But at least he might kill that wretched snake.

He knows this will throw him back into the Void from which he was created. But perhaps when he finally goes there, that vile snake will be gone. Maybe he will finally reach a peace of mind, a sense of serenity that he has been denied for so long.

The snake is silent now, watching him. He knows regardless it will laugh and cackle. It is no choice in the end.

He pulls the pin.


End file.
